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Zeke's fingertips slowly follow the curve of the boy's delicate cheekbone. Although it is bruised, his skin is soft and beautiful, inviting. Fluttering lashes half-hide his blue eyes, almost powerless and empty now. Zeke steals a tiny kiss, can't resist those tempting lips; Casey starts trembling.
So beautiful, Zeke thinks and then he says it aloud in a low, almost lascivious voice, evoking a little sob.
It's exactly how he wants Casey. Not begging. Not fighting. Just making those small sounds, fearful and desperate at first, then turning into a mixture of disbelieving pleasure. Zeke never needs to ask, is granted those sobs every time, and he is grateful for that.
“You're not better than any of them,” Casey says into the semi-comfortable silence, and although his voice is a mere whisper and his posture doesn't emphasize his dislike, it's obvious.
“Why?”
“Because you lied to me.” Casey looks up to meet Zeke's clouded gaze. “You're a liar and an abuser. And you know it.”
Zeke doesn't want to agree that he’s a motherfucking asshole. He turns away and lights a cigarette as if the smoke could fend off the truth. In a way, it does, for it makes Casey climb out of the bed and dress again.
“Thanks, I guess,” Casey says, pausing with his hand on the doorknob. “You know, for saving my ass just for your good time.”
“Fuck off!” Zeke calls, but Casey is already gone. It doesn't matter. He'll return. He always does.